Till The Last Shot's Fired
by Bralt
Summary: When we called retreat it was almost dark/I died with a grapeshot in my heart...inspired by Trace Adkins' Till The Last Shot's Fired. Rated for death and suggested bad language
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Ranger's Apprentice or the song 'Till The Last Shot's Fired' but Trace Adkins**

**I was listening to this song and realized it wouldn't be good for a songfic if I used the entire thing (at least I didn't think I could do much with it) but I liked the first verse and a few parts after that and they basically inspired this scene and a possible second one so...ya...been a while...**

Halt could see the unease among the soldiers. It was as clear as the day was cold. There were at least thirty fires set up that Halt could see, and around each was a group of soldiers trying to get warm. They'd marched what felt like half the country in the blasted cold, and hadn't even had time to bury those who had fallen from either the cold or starvation.

Having finally reached their destination, even the dimwitted could see they were far outnumbered. Though the higher ranks had tried to keep it a secret, word had leaked that they stood no chance. Halt cursed to himself as he strode through the camp. He'd warned that damned Archard man, but he insisted that they march against this fort. Halt had argued until his last breath, but no matter what he said Archard had ignored him and pressed his verdict. Even though Halt was a Ranger, the ultimate decision was up to the appointed man.

In the past day there had been more deserters than in the entire week because of the odds and Halt cursed again. He'd caught those he could, but others got by. A couple times the thought passed through his mind to join them. He never did though, he was a Ranger and this was the King's fight and therefore his fight. Cursing some more, Halt made his way to the ring of men standing twenty feet inside the trenches that surrounded the camp.

He took his position quietly after relieving one of the knights and scanned the forest surrounding the hill, his breath misting in the cold air. At least they had this advantage, he reflected. Archard had wanted to make a quick move and attack as soon as the fort came into view. Thankfully, Halt and the others had convinced him otherwise and they'd settled on this hill.

Halt frowned slightly as his keen eyes caught a movement down below. Instinctively his hand rose to retrieve an arrow from his quiver. As he raised his bow, he started to spot more and more movement through the small gaps between the pine trees below. The forest surrounding them on all but one side was dense and hard to see through on top of their hill, but Halt was trained to see what others could not, and with the sound of camp to his back it was hard to hear anything coming from below.

Halt's chest tightened as he saw the first of the enemy break cover. Somewhere of to his side he heard a horn blow meaning that others had spotted them as well. Not that it did much good. Already men in armor with shields as big as themselves were making good time up the hill, their shields held in front of them. By the time the camp was ready to fight it'd be too late.

Halt drew an arrow back and fired at a boy that didn't look older than seventeen when his arm grew weary and he lowered his shield slightly. The Ranger didn't get to see his arrow pierce the armor around the boy's neck because he was already firing at others that needed a brief respite on the steep climb. Even with the efforts of him and the archers around him, some of the enemy were already fighting their way across trenches. Halt's side was doing fairly well on holding them back, but behind him he heard the din of steel against steel and cries as the unprepared were killed.

However, it didn't take long for Halt to run out of arrows. Throwing his bow away to the side so he wouldn't stumble over it, Halt drew his knives and waited for them to get to the trenches. Steeling a glance over his shoulder, Halt felt his hopes fall. It was a massacre in the camp, his fellow men dying as armed enemies fell upon them. Only a few seemed to have gotten ready in time.

Halt ducked quickly when he heard a familiar, and unwelcome, sound behind him. Not a second later a crossbow bolt flew over him where his head had been. Before he could rise three short blasts were sounded and he muttered a few curses. Three blasts meant retreat. Three blasts meant it was lost.

All around him men were dropping their weapons and running towards the sound. Still cursing under his breath, Halt stood and turned to see if any foes had breached the trenches.

He didn't see the crossbow bolt until it buried itself into his chest over his heart.

**Yes I realize how long it's been since I updated, I apologize a hundred times over, I just sort of got sucked into Game Of Thrones and haven't gotten spit back out yet so I'M SORRY BUT IT'S SUCH A GOOD SERIES! I hope I can get more out before school starts, this was mostly just to get back into writing, but I'm really hoping I can write some more. **

**Please review?**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Ranger's Apprentice or any of its characters. Nor do I own 'Til The Last Shot's Fired' by Trace Adkins**

Gilan took a shaky breath and checked his equipment again. Everything was as ready as it had been a few seconds ago so he glanced around. Near a thousand men were lying low on the beach, the sea lapping against their feet as they waited.

Trying to calm his nerves, Gilan looked upwards. There was a gentle slope of a hill then the first seawall. They'd have to expose themselves there to get over it, and over it they needed to be. Swallowing what he hoped was his fear and not bile, Gilan could feel his heart hammering against his ribs, and for a moment he thought it would come up his throat.

He was starting to squirm slightly when Halt placed a hand on his shoulder. Taking another deep breath, Gilan looked to his left where his old mentor was lying still. He seemed calmer than the water behind them and that steadied Gilan's nerves more than anything else could.

Gilan felt like a child as Halt removed his hand and returned to his patient waiting. Internally Gilan yelled at himself. He'd faced worse odds and he believed he'd been in more danger, but there was something about this. The seawall loomed above them up the slope, and that was where his uneasiness originated. Rangers were used to the shadows. It was where they worked and hid. It meant safety once they knew how to use it correctly.

However, there were no shadows on that seawall except behind it. And they had to go over it while men on the other side fired who knew what at them. They'd be exposed and easy targets while going over, and that was a feeling Rangers were never used to.

He felt the urge to start shifting again, but one look at Halt stopped him. He wasn't about to let his mentor down by not keeping still.

An eternity seemed to pass before the horn blew and Gilan's heart sped up so much he thought it was about to burst. Fueled by adrenaline, the young Ranger sprinted up the slope with the fastest of them. Even though Halt was far more senior, the grizzled man had always been able to best him and was a few feet ahead.

Launching himself at the wall behind Halt, Gilan felt a wave of relief when his hands grasped the top and he pulled himself up. However, the feeling was quenched when a man to his right fell. With a heart fluttering like a startled bird, Gilan clambered over the top and was about to drop down the other side when he felt it.

He didn't remember yelling, but he must have because Halt spun around to look at him. His grip on the wall slipped and he fell to the ground, the arrow creating a fiery pain through his back. His eyes met Halt's for a brief second before the old man had to hurry on. No matter how much it killed him to leave Gilan behind, the young man understood. Halt was a Ranger, and being the best archer in Araluen meant he had value in this damned battle. Especially when they got behind the barrier closest to the enemies. Therefore Gilan was left to himself.

He tried standing several times, but the wound's agony flared at that and he decided it best to lie back down.

Only a few stragglers were clambering over the walls when the scent of smoke reached him. He managed a weak smile at that, at least something was going right. Their plan was to try and burn the enemy out of their immense wooden fortress using fire arrows. Gilan could feel the small jar of pitch and the flint digging into his side. He was supposed to be sitting by Halt this instant firing flaming arrows, but he knew he was too weak to stand, much less loose arrows at men.

The wind blew the smoke over his head, and Gilan watched it twist and swirl with dimming sight. He wanted to stay alive. Just for a few hours if not more. Just to know he wasn't dying in a losing battle. Just long enough to know if they had won or lost. Was that so much to ask? He'd die willingly for his country, but he didn't want it to be in vain.

A few seconds passed and Gilan closed his eyes, finding himself too weak to keep them open anymore. His last thought was wondering if the archers had brought the bastards' fort down.


End file.
